Express News Feature Story

When I was back home, a reporter called from the San Antonio Express-News and asked if she could write a feature story on mom. I know she would have been flattered and proud. She would have hesitated at first, but would have been happy. Here it is.

Thanksgiving 2009.

Back at the ranch, in San Antonio, Texas. It was a fun Thanksgiving. Mom cooked the turkey with all the trimmings and we got to celebrate her birthday together. It was a holiday we won't forget.

Mom's Alma Mater.

The beautiful and historic and famous Jefferson High School, an architectural masterpiece.

From the San Antonio Express-News

A feature article from the San Antonio Express-News about mom.

Thanksgiving 2009.

A Note For You.

Mom, I hope that you are hearing this.

We are all at our house in Los Angeles...Dad, Amanda, Martina, Abbey and Me. It's too bad that you cannot be here with us. It's not the same without you here. You would love to hold Abbey in your arms. She is so cute. She is becoming more alert.

We know that you are here, looking over Abbey, protecting her.

We want you to look over Dad, too. He is very sad without you. The loss of you is great.

Even though we know we will see you again soon, right now, the loss feels very final.

Joe's Hamburgers

A couple of days after Mom's funeral, Dad and I had to go to John Benbow's home. On the way back, we decided to drive by our old house on Glentower. Afterwards, we found ourselves on Blanco, so I thought it would be nice to take a trip down memory lane and travel the length of Blanco, all the way to Beacon Hill and the house where Mom grew up and our grandparents lived. We passed by all the old sites and landmarks I saw as a kid on countless trips back and forth from my grandparents growing up. Nimitz high school, the Wedgewood apartments, the Oblate seminary, Chris Madrids, and finally....Joe's Hamburgers. And the amazing thing is....Joe's was open. The old rundown stand without a sign or sign of life was actually open, which is rare, since Phyllis come in when she wants and only opens from 11:30 to 1:3o.

Hipp's Bubble Room Menu

This is where it all began. Dad met Mom at the legendary Hipp's Bubble Room in San Antonio. It was sort of like the "21 Club" for

San Antonio, back in the day. Check out the prices on the menu. This is the real deal.

At the Josephine Street Cafe

Mom at the backup to the Liberty, the Josephine Street Cafe. Across the street from the Liberty Bar. The former Finke meat market. Wonderful food, wonderful company.

William Neale: It All Started Here.

NEALE, WILLIAM (1807–1896). William Neale, soldier and mayor of Brownsville, was born on June 19, 1807, in Bexhill, Sussex, England. He left home at thirteen and signed up as a cabin boy on an English ship that had been sold secretly to Mexico. Refitted as a Mexican man-of-war, the ship and its English crew took part in the shelling and surrender of the castle of San Juan de Ullóa and Veracruz in 1821. Neale then took a discharge from the Mexican navy and worked for a British mining company in Mexico. He sailed back to England in 1826 and married Una Rutland on October 1, 1827. He and his wife came to the United States, settled first in Pottsfield, Pennsylvania, moved south in 1833, and arrived in Matamoros, Tamaulipas, in 1834. Neale began a stage route from the landing at Bagdad, Tamaulipas, where ocean-going ships had to unload freight and passengers, to the riverport of Matamoros. During the Mexican War his stages or "hacks" were used by Gen. Pedro Ampudia to remove the Mexican wounded after the battle of Palo Alto. Neale and his family were part of the frantic congestion of civilians and fleeing Mexican soldiers trying to cross the Rio Grande after the defeat of Mexican troops at the battle of Resaca de la Palma. From a windmill on the Mexican side of the river he witnessed General Ampudia's bombardment of Fort Brown.

During his years on the Mexican border Neale served as an unofficial consul for Americans; he helped locate runaway slaves, and Mrs. Neale secured the release of Henry Lawrence Kinney from General Ampudia. In 1855, when steamboats began going directly to Matamoros, Neale discontinued his Bagdad stage line and established a mercantile business at a steamboat landing twenty-five miles upriver from Brownsville at Nealeville (also called Santa Maria). In 1859 Juan Nepomuceno Cortina and his men crossed at La Bolsa Bend of the Rio Grande and burned Neale's store, along with journals he had been keeping for years, and in Brownsville they killed Neale's son. In the Civil War Neale served as captain of a company of home guards at Fort Brown, was a second lieutenant in the Third Texas Infantry Regiment, an inspector for cotton going into Mexico, and the enrolling and passport officer for Gen. Hamilton Prioleau Bee. He witnessed naval actions of the federal blockade at the mouth of the Rio Grande and the burning of Fort Brown. When the federal troops occupied Brownsville in 1863, he returned to Matamoros to live. He finally settled in Brownsville in 1865, where he had been mayor (1858–59). He served as mayor again from 1866 to 1869. By the 1890s he was known as Brownsville's oldest inhabitant and recognized as an authority on the town's history. He died in Brownsville on April 6, 1896, and was buried there. His home was given to the Brownsville Art League in 1950 and was moved to a location south of the United States Customs House.

Golden Hour.

It was the night before the visitation, Monday, August 30. Mom had been gone since Friday. As Amanda and I walked down Patterson to Central Market, it was just turning dusk, the golden hour. An air of peace settled over the street. A few leaves stirred, but it was suddenly calm. No cars graced the street, nor people. The leaves of the trees were casting shadows on the streets. We looked up Argyle from Patterson, up the steep hill and saw the ember ends of the day glow on the high horizon, shedding its golden light upon us. Nature reflected something great that evening. We felt that Mom was at peace. That she was giving us a sign that we should remain calm. Everything was going to be alright. She was truly at peace, and we should be too, in the knowledge that she lived on and triumphed over death, indeed. We walked further, past the Cathedral House past an open field. It was an open expanse, virgin landed that escaped the developer’s hand because it lay on a flood plain. Golden light illuminated the grass and brush. We saw a steeple from Incarnate Word in the distance and felt like we could have been in field in the English Countryside in Somerset county.

Afterwards.

After the burial, we headed back home for a wonderful reception at the house. Mom would have been very happy. It was beautiful. Full of flowers, food and fun fellowship. Afterwards, Martina and I had to run an errand that found us back on Austin Highway, not too far from Sunset Memorial Park, where Mom rests in peace. On the way back, it started to rain, as if the heavens were weeping. However, through the rain, the sun was shining the entire time. We even saw the makings of a rainbow in the distance. Perhaps it was a sign from Mom. It’s okay to weep for me, but remember, my light will shine eternally upon you, and guide you throughout your life, and Dad’s and Amanda’s and Martina’s and Abbey’s lives.

Eulogy: Elsie Neale Strickland

From my remembrance of Mom, given at Christ Episcopal Church, September 1, 2010.


Thank you all for coming today. My mom would be very happy to see you. Actually, let me revise that…my mom is very happy to see you all. Because she is with us, here, in Christ Church, indeed.

She is also with her mother Emma and father, Fred Neale. Her sister Betty Jo. Her first Jack Russell, Reggie. And all of her wonderful cousins and relatives, whom she loved so much.

But before I proceed, I want Mom to have a good day today, as I am sure she is having.
We owe it to her.
I know it’s a hard thing to ask…but for the moment, let’s try not cry for our loss, which, of course, is great and unfathomable.
She knows we’re saddened, but she wouldn’t want us to mope on this day.

Instead, let’s cheer for her victory. And entrance to a new life.
She’s “graduated.” Moved on. Or as they say, “She has split this joint.”
As a friend of mine said to me yesterday, “think of it more as a ‘start’ or return, rather than an end.

And I am sure of that. I am sure that she would want us to celebrate, as we did last night during the visitation. Sure, there were tears from Dad, Amanda, Martina and I at the beginning, but pretty soon afterwards, the fog had lifted and the light flooded in, along with many memories. And both were bright. The mood shifted. Mom made sure there was laughter and remembrance, joy and witty, animated conversation. Dad felt calm. I felt relaxed. Amanda joked with friends. It was an unassailable fact: mom had a hand in bringing us peace that evening.

So, without further ado…I’d like to push the rewind button and remember some of our memories together.

Let’s call it “Scenes from a Wonderful Life”

Many of my friends growing up who I have spoken to recently said what a “cool” mom she was. And what they meant by that is that she never treated us teenagers as kids. She treated us kids as adults….and peers. My friends felt they could “talk” to her…on the level. She and my sister were more than mere mother and daughter…they were best friends. Often they’d go out together for drinks at the little bar at La Fonda on Main or even catch a band at Casbeer’s…and remember, mother was an octogenarian. Which almost anyone who met her found impossible to believe.

We were fortunate enough to get a front row seat to her life and bear witness to her elegance, charm, caring and wit as a son, a daughter and a husband. Hear all of the stories about the Neale family, which she was so proud of. Her times in New Orleans and New York as a young woman. The time a rep for Christian Dior spotted her in Frost Brothers and asked if she would model for them. She said “thanks, but no thanks.” It’s true: as much as she could have wanted to….she never wanted to call attention to herself. She had the mind, precision and organization of a CEO or general, but she was more than happy and content to be a wife and mother of two children here in San Antonio.

When I was in college, Mom never asked me about classes or grade point averages. She asked me if I were having fun. How was the party last weekend? What kind of people are you meeting? But above all: Are you having a good time? That was what counted to her. Not the score on an English exam.

Of course, she was a clothes horse. She could not walk into Saks Fifth Avenue without walking out with a shopping bag. She’d buy a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sandals like they were flip flops. She loved to take Amanda shopping. It was an adventure for both of them. She approached shopping like she approached the world…with an insatiable curiosity and passion. She indeed elevated it to an art form.

Mom loved to cook. And eat. Which is rare for a perpetually trim woman. She greatly expanded our kitchen of our original house, turning it into a restaurant level kitchen. She had more cookbooks than most bookstores and had subscribed to Gourmet magazine since the 1960s. One day, she decided she would donate her entire collection of Gourmet magazines to Trinity University. A few months after doing so, she deeply regretted it. Oh, what a foolish mistake, she mused. Luckily, through an act of fate, my Dad happened upon an entire bound set of Gourmet magazines at Cheever Books and promptly snapped them up. Indeed, he knew how to make her happy. That’s how much he loved her. How devoted he was to her. How he would do anything and everything for her.

Mom also loved animals. Sometimes more than some people. She was in love with her Jack Russell Terrier Sophie. They used to walk the hills of Alamo Heights, twice a day, well into her 70s, in the heat of the San Antonio sun, with the pace and stamina of a thirty-year-old. When she was in the hospital, she really missed seeing Sophie. She would have loved her company. Perhaps someday in the future, they will allow pets in hospital rooms. I really don’t see why not.

She loved her fellowship with the members of the Holley Garden club and the Assistance League. She also belong to a club called the Liberty Bar, or at least it seemed like a club the way Mom and Dad used to go there. For a number of years, they had lunch there literally every single day. Rudy always made sure to reserve them a table and bring them the “fresh” bread and regale them with stories.

As a Mom, she was devoted to us kids. We couldn’t have asked for more attention and affection. Mom loved to visit me and my sister Amanda in college. Mom and Dad drove all the way from Texas to Virginia dozens of times to visit us. They made a road trip out of it. They both knew how to make anything into a great adventure, even if they were having breakfast at a Waffle House or dinner at a Morrison’s cafeteria. Mom loved meeting our college friends and they loved meeting her.


Then there was New York. She loved New York, like nobody’s business. She knew New York so well, from reading the New York Times daily and The New Yorker, that I’d actually ask her for advice about the latest things going on in the city.

And I’ll tell ya, she did NOT love the fact that we moved to LA seven years ago.
Mom was epicurious and adventurous and tried all the great restaurants in the city from Nobu to Lutece to Gotham to Bouley to the Peking Duck House in Chinatown. And all the great, old fashioned diners in between. We would walk through Central Park and take in the fall air, see the leaves change. Tour the Met, catch a play, visit the Hamptons, shop in SoHo, trek in midtown and stay at the nicest hotels in the city. We had no idea how precious that time was together. I mean, we appreciated it, but looking upon those times now, I wish I could have bottled those moments. Something like Total Recall or The Matrix….but happy, loving, unscary experiences. But now I realize that you can. They are just called memories. Ones that will never, ever, ever fade.

She loved music. Frank Sinatra, Stephane Grapelli, Cole Porter, Dizzy Gillespie, Billy Holiday, Dinah Washington, Tony Bennett and Ella Fitzgerald. She loved listening to KRTU in the morning with her coffee, toast and marmalade. Mom influenced all of us with her great taste in arts and culture, whether painting, architecture, food, history, film or just PBS.

She also loved movies. Big time. She had an encyclopedic knowledge of old Hollywood stars and films. She loved William Holden, Humphrey Bogart and Barbara Stanwyck.
Mom was a huge Woody Allen fan. Especially his films “Hannah and Her Sisters,” “Broadway Danny Rose” and “Manhattan Murder Mystery,” which we watched with her many, many times. We even saw Woody Allen once together in New York, walking down Madison Avenue, back in the day. And Amanda was sure to bring her favorite movies to the hospital, so she could escape for a while. And she never grew tired of watching “Sideways.”

One of her favorite films was “Shop Around the Corner.” If you haven’t seen it, watch it tonight. It’s a witty, feel-good, romantic comedy. They don’t make them like that any more. Just like they don’t make women like Elsie Neale Strickland anymore. It’s true. Perhaps she is engaging in witty conversation with James Stewart as we speak and remarking on the nice turnout she had today.





Mom, I really want to thank you for giving your family your full and undivided attention. You made sure that we had every meal together, talking to each other and enjoying your wonderful food, rather than multitasking, zoning out and watching TV. You spent time preparing every single meal from scratch. You made sure we ate and were tucked in. You never poured from a can nor opened a box. And your fried chicken, okra gumbo and mashed potatoes were some of the best in the land.

Mom used to love to hear about my travels around the world. She never traveled abroad herself, as she absolutely refused to fly, but she had a chance to “travel” with me, if you will, to London, to Paris, to Rome….to Taipei….Tokyo….Thailand and India and Australia, wherever I went, she went, through postcards, pictures and conversation.

And now, she has traveled someplace else altogether….just beyond that fragile, delicate boundary of that separates the mortal….to a new life. She is not far off, but actually quite close. And she is still with us…and us in her. I realized that last night at the visitation. Her presence had a calming, soothing effect on those of us who are grieving the most. And she is certainly with and part of her three-week old granddaughter Abbey Lee Neale Strickland. I know that, for sure….because when I put my finger out to her little hand, she grasps it with a might that is exactly like Mom’s…..even when Mom was in the hospital.

I am happy and comforted to know that Abbey will have an amazing grandmother for inspiration and guidance. And a guardian angel to protect her through life.

May Elsie Neale Strickland live on in Abbey…..in Amanda….in Dad… and in all of us.

Amen.

Article from the Brownsville Herald about Mom's beloved Neale house, the original home of her great, great grandfather, William Neale.

The Brownsville Herald

What truth is there to the notion that a house retains the characteristics of its owner?
In the case of the Neale House, home of the 19th century renegade William Neale (1807-1896), the answer is plenty. Like its namesake, the oldest known house in Brownsville and home of the Brownsville Art League has both mercurial and creative qualities.
For the second time in its 154-year history, the Neale House will be moved to a new location in Brownsville.
Marry Eddington, president of the Board of Regents for the Brownsville Museum of Fine Art, said, The Neale House will be relocated to Linear Park just after the museum is completed, probably sometime next fall. The structure originally stood at 14th Street between East Washington and East Adams before being moved in 1950 to its current location on Neale Drive.
She added that the process will be extremely delicate because the two original chimneys must be encased to transport. Once the move is complete, repairs will be made to restore the house to its original state.
William Neale would be pleased. An avid painter, trumpeter, and writer, the former Brownsville mayor was nothing if not capricious.
At age 13 or 14, Neale ran away from his home in Sussex, England, and joined a cargo vessel that eventually turned into a gun ship in the Mexican War of Independence. Soon after, he found himself in Veracruz serving briefly in the Mexican army where he befriended Pedro de Ampudia, a latter day general in the U.S.-Mexico War.
During the battle of Palo Alto, Neale allowed Ampudia to use his residence in Matamoros to be used as a hospital for Mexican troops. After the war, he moved across the Rio Grande and is believed to be the first person to move across the border after the resolution of the conflict in 1848.
Just 10 years later, he served as Brownsvilles mayor before enlisting in the Confederate army as a second lieutenant. During that time Neale was fighting on the same side as Brownsvilles founder Charles Stillman, an American who only years before had escaped Mexican capture in the U.S.-Mexico War. After the Confederacys defeat, Neale eventually moved back to Brownsville for a second term as mayor. His memoirs, preserved in the book Century of Conflict, are one of few primary sources of early Brownsville history that still exist.

wpmcmichael@freedom.link.com

Mom, Matamoros, Mexico

I wish I knew more about this photo, but I don't. I love it anyway. Must have been a fun evening.

A Walk in the Park.

On one of Mom and Dad's countless trips to New York. And I mean countless. Dad probably knows, because he's kept every tax return since 1953. Here they are in the lower park, by the pond with the Plaza Hotel looming in the background.

Mom at 18.

She was forever the glamour girl. Mom could have made it in Hollywood, but she was happy to be with her beloved mom and dad in San Antonio. I think that was the right choice...

Mom, San Antonio River, Memorial Day 2010